Plasmids are the Paint
by Ebonshire
Summary: A reworking of Jack's arrival in Rapture, and how events may have unfolded slightly differently...


...But the Plasmids are the paint.

_"They told me, 'Son, you're special. You were born to do great things.' _

_You know what? They were right."_

Falling.

Sinking, choking...

I tried to breathe, to gasp for air, anything... My arms flailed and juddered, trying to clutch at anything which might break this excrutiating descent into the freezing cold water which enveloped my thrashing, panicking body.

As my itching, stinging eyes twitched hysterically around the icy depths of the sea into which I had plunged, a large white motor whizzed suddenly past, inches from my face.

I spun instinctively backwards, the heavy weight of the water around me impeding and pushing against me, and my hand involuntarily caught something which had been floating downwards close to me. A pearl necklace. A cream ladies handbag drifted past a second later, it's contents spilling out into the murky ocean, pinkish powder leaking from an ornate powder compact case.

My lungs felt impossibly tight, my entire chest seeming as if it could burst at any moment. A stream of bubbles erupted from my mouth as I cried out in terror and, letting the necklace drop from my grasp, I began a desparate attempt to hurl myself upwards, away from this raw, enclosing cold.

I pushed and pushed, forcing my arms to propel me towards the shimmering, glistening surface above me, the sheer mass of the water battling me constantly, endeavouring to shove me back down again. The surface came nearer and nearer, my fingers reaching for it, stretching for it, my chest and throat burning, screaming...

_GASP! _

My drenched, fatigued head finally broke the surface of the deep, night-time sea, my breathing ragged and desparate, gasping at the glorious, intoxicating taste of the cool, salty air. As my eyes drank it the scenery around me, I was met with only one thing.

Fire.

Fire, **FIRE**!

It was everywhere, totally surrounding me, intwined with ragged pieces of metal jutting from the black ocean, random pieces of debris scattered amongst the devastation. I searched around frantically for a way forwards, and I saw only a small opening a way off in the distance, and beyond it, a large, pointed spire stretching grandly into the inky sky.

I started immediately for it, thrashing my limbs into a messy breaststroke, progressing as quickly as I could muster towards that small gap to freedom.

The ocean around me was truly freezing, the cold constantly draining my meagre strength as I struggled forwards, always threatening to drag me back down into those dark, hellish depths once again. A collection of large, cyllindrical pieces of metal floated near the gap in the flames, and the blaze seemed eager to engulf these scraps as well, the fire fanned by the nautical breeze whipping from the ocean's surface.

I increased my pace anxiously, just managing to clear the gap before the flames caught onto the cylinders, encasing them with a sudden _whoosh_.

The blaze sent a boiling wave through the air, pushing me forwards painfully until I finally reached that promising spire, grabbing at the slippery set of stairs next to it gratefully, heaving myself onto them and crawling upwards. I reached the flat surface in the center of the stairway, and doubled over as a sickening wave of nausea overcame me, and I automatically heaved and spat out a long stream of combined seawater and vomit, it's acidic stench making me shudder.

I rose shakily to my feet, stumbling backwards and slumping against the cold stone wall of the spire behind me, sliding up the sodden, uncomfortable sleeves of my thick woolen sweater with trembling hands.

I gazed back over the wreckage, in the distance now, the vast flames belching black smoke into atmosphere, the debris beginning to sink forlornly into the undulating, oily ocean.

But... What had happened?

My mind was searching for the explanation, the _reason_ why I was here... What was I doing in the middle of the ocean, seemingly miles from anywhere?

These scraps of metal... It looks like a plane crash... But...

_Seated. A cigarette. _

_I leaned back comfortably against the soft leather of the recliner seat, taking a long puff , letting out the relaxing smoke slowly. Outside the window... Black. _

_No stars tonight... _

_A gift.  
I remember I'd been given it, by... by...? _

_The shiny paper crinkles metallicy under my grasp. My eyes scan the ribboned label. _

_"__**Dear Jack... Happy Birthday! Would you kindly... -"**_

My brain reeled and ached... I could recall no more; the memory ended there. So... sometime between then and now, the plane had come down. But...why? And where the hell was I now?

I took a step forwards and turned at stare up at the magnificent spire which towered above me. It had to lead somewhere...  
With only a slight pause, I carried on cautiously up the rest of the slimy steps, and came to a giant, bronze-engraved door, which stood slightly ajar. Peering inside, I could make out only indistinct, gilded shapes in the darkness.

Edging my way inside, I took a few nervous steps before a sudden clang of metal made me jump. I spun round to see the heavy bronze door had swung shut behind me, efectively sealing me inside this damp, foreign room. Turning slowly back around, my squinting eyes snapped shut as a sudden blinding light flared up above me, illuminating the dank walls around me.

As I eased my eyes slowly open, blinking rapidly to adjust to the glaring brightness, a large, garish banner greeted me, black text splayed grandly across draped red silk;

_**"No Gods or Kings... Only Man.." **_

I frowned slightly at the pretentious, blasphemous statement, twisting my head to either side to view the newly brightened interior. The surrounding walls shone with a metallic sheen, the decor of the various plaques lining them reflecting a clearly Art Deco theme.  
Dregs of moss and rust inhabited the far corners of the ceiling, thin droplets of water dripping down almost forlornly onto the echoing ground.

As I began to descend the oily stairs to the side, the fevered strains of Reinhardt's Beyond the Sea began to reverbiate through the air, the tone indistinct and whining. Down another slippery staircase, I finally came to circular, metal... _vehicle_ of some sort, the hefty iron door propped open.

I ventured tentatively inside; the interior was lined with seating, and a large, glinting lever occupied the centre of the contraption.

Aware that I really had no other choice, all that was left behind me being a sinking, smouldering wreck and the endless ocean, I cautiously tugged down the rusty, reluctant lever, and stumbled as the machine whirred and juddered into action.

As it began to sink slowly but steadily downwards, long streams of bubbles issuing from underneath the the heavy sphere, I noticed various stretched sculptures which we were passing, with embedded signs attached;

"Ten Fathoms, Eighteen Fathoms..."

_How far does this thing go!? Knowing my luck, it's a one-way trip to dropping off the bottom of the freakin' world..._

The smeared glass screen in front of me dulled suddenly; the background blacking, and a weathered, cracked movie projection appeared lopsidedly before me.

A sepia advert flashed up; the characters it depicted looking corny and over-exposed:

**"****Fire at your Fingertips!**

**INCINERATE **

**Plasmids by Ryan Industries"**

I frowned to myself;

_Plasmids? What the hell does __**that **__mean? Ryan Industries...? What's this all about? _

The presentation moved onwards; a short, arrogant, lecturing speech about being 'Entitled to the sweat of your brow', from what was advertised as 'The desk of Ryan'.

_Ryan... Ryan industries... Must be a lead player around here. Wherever... __**here **__is... _

**"I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose to build..."**

The speech reached it's climax, the aged screen dropped from in front of me, and a vision was revealed to punctuate the last word of the sentence;

"**Rapture**."

Utopia lay before me.


End file.
